You have been away for a while.
I have felt it in the spaces where you used to be—in the conversations that no longer happen, in the moments that leave me alone with my own thoughts, and in the way I sometimes check on you or reach out before remembering that you may be carrying more than you can explain.
And I know you are.
We have talked about it for some time.
I may not understand everything you are going through. I know parts of it, but I also know enough to see that your distance is not always a measure of how little you care.
I believe this is your season—one that has taken you inward, one that asks for your time, energy, and presence before you have much left to give.
I understand enough to respect that.
I do not want to make your difficult days heavier by asking you to hold my longing, too.
So I wait.
I decided to wait.
Even though you did not ask me to.
Even though I am not certain of what will happen.
I wait because, for now, it is still my choice.
There is a part of me that wants to remain gentle with you. A part that believes your absence is carrying a story I cannot see from where I am standing.
Even if I could look closer, there are still parts of what you are going through that remain yours alone.
I respect that.
I try not to disturb the space you need—to understand what is happening, to settle, and to find your way through it.
Because I want to be there with you, even from the sidelines.
But waiting has its own ache.
It means loving you from a distance without knowing whether you can still feel it. It means waking up still hoping for your return. There are days when I wonder whether hope is the only thing still keeping me here.
I do not say that with anger.
It is a discipline to stand still.
I say it because loving you has shown me how much my heart can endure when it still believes in someone—you.
I believe you can get through this.
I cannot ask you for more than you can give right now. I cannot make you return before you are ready. So I stay where I am, trying to love you without turning my love into another weight on your shoulders.
And I also have to be honest with myself. I cannot wait forever.
I will stay as long as my heart can stay without losing itself. I will leave room for you as long as that room does not become the only place I live.
Until then, I will keep caring for you in the way I know how.
I will keep hoping—
until hope leaves me alone.